


Him (NICK AMARO)

by RockWithItWriting



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit RPF
Genre: Nick Amaro - Freeform, Other, reader - Freeform, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7531411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>requested by anonymous: I’m having major Amaro feels bro. Can you give me a really fluffy amaro imagine? Like where something happens to the reader and it puts her in the hospital and Nick is there and I just need lots of fluff</p><p>requested by anonymous: Request for an Amaro imagine where readers abusive father comes to the precinct and he causes problems and she has a breakdown but Nick helps her</p><p>word count: 1244</p><p>warnings: abuse, anger, violence, mentions of past abuse, blood</p>
            </blockquote>





	Him (NICK AMARO)

The moment you saw Him, the coffee fell from your hand.

The moment you saw Him, your lungs stopped working.

The moment you saw Him, you were fourteen years old, staring him down in a restaurant.

The moment you saw Him, your stomach felt so tight it was going to split.

The moment you saw Him, He saw you.

And you tried to leave.

You tried to turn. To leave. To find safety.

But He saw you.

And so did Nick.

And you saw Nick. So you smiled. You smiled and brushed past Him and hugged Nick, apologizing for the coffee spill, making up some excuse.

But He wasn’t going to take the hint and leave.

He tapped you on the shoulder. And you turned, still smiling at Nick. But the smile dropped off your face when you saw His. Your body tensed up when He hugged you and when He said your name your throat constricted.

“Hi, Dad.” Your throat burned like acid and then you tried to step back into Nick’s arms, out of His, but He had a grip on your shoulder.

It was familiar.

It was cold.

It was going to bruise.

That was okay. You knew how to cover bruises. You covered them for fourteen years. Until you got away. You needed to get away again.

He was grinning at you, “Can we talk? It’s been awhile.”

“It’s been twelve years,” You managed to say, voice tight, “No.” His fingers tightened, but you didn’t flinch.

You never flinched anymore.

You knew better than to flinch.

“It’s important. About your brother.” Nick took the reins then, leading Him to a break room. He dragged you in after Him, and then the door shut.

The room was too small.

The room was too hot.

He was too close.

You were frozen.

“Leave,” You tried, “Get the fuck away from me. How’d you find out where I worked anyway?” He just smiled and wrapped a hand around your bicep. Squeezing. Bruising.

Always.

“Your brother,” He grinned, “Good job, moving to the big ol’ New York. You can’t just get rid of me. I’m your fucking father.” He spit. But you didn’t flinch.

“Get out.” You jerked away, ripping your arm from his grip. “Get the fuck out. I will shoot you in this fucking room, right now.” You were shaking. Quivering. Scared. You wanted him gone.

But he knew.

He knew you wouldn’t shoot him.

He saw the way you were shutting down, the way your face was losing emotion and the way that your eyes were hardening.

He enjoyed it.

He knew that look.

You had carried that look throughout your teen years.

Into your twenties.

You had carried the PTSD, too.

He knew that.

Your brother knew that.

You were going to kill your brother.

He grabbed your arm again, so you grabbed his wrist and twisted it off. In a split second He cocked his other arm back and hit you.

And hit you.

And hit you.

You were bleeding.

So much blood.

Everywhere.

On your face.

Neck.

Coming from your nose, mouth.

It was on His hands.

He hit you again.

The door behind Him opened.

And Nick was there. Nick was hitting Him. And you collapsed to the ground and Nick hit Him. And hit Him. And hit Him.

And then Fin pulled Nick off of Him and Nick rushed to you. Nick wrapped his arms around you and he whispered your name and you looked at him.

“I’m going to get blood on your shirt.” Finally, you raised a hand and cupped it under your chin in hopes you’d catch the blood. Fin pulled Him from the room and you were left with Nick.

“I don’t care about that,” Nick said gruffly, pinching your cheeks to make you look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He was shaking.

“How could I?” You mumbled, casting your eyes down. “You had to deal with your own father. I never thought that I would see Him again.” Nick kissed your forehead.

“You should have told me.”

“I should have told a lot of people. But I didn’t.” Your face was throbbing but you didn’t feel it.

Didn’t feel anything.

You had shut down.

But Nick was there. And Nick had his arms around you. And Nick made you want to feel something.

But you couldn’t.

You hadn’t felt something around Him since you were a teenager. And you didn’t want to start then. So even though Nick made you want to cry, you didn’t.

“You could have told me. I never- I wouldn’t have put you in the room- I would have kicked him out the moment he came looking for you.” You looked at Nick, finally, and shook your head.

“He would have done the same thing to you.” The blood was pooling in your hand and Nick stood, dragging you with him. “Nicky, this is fine. I can clean up. I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”

Nick shushed you, looking like he was about to begin crying. He kissed your forehead again.

He took you to the bathroom and let you drop the blood in your hand into the sink. He bent you over, gently, carefully, turning on the chilled water. Nick took a paper towel and wetted it, wiping down your face. He took deep breaths, kissing your temple, your hairline, anywhere he could reach. He ran a hand down your back and he pressed another paper towel, clean and wet, to your forehead as you closed your eyes.

You knew you were going to feel something soon.

Especially if Nick kept caring like he was.

Especially if he kept kissing your skin tenderly.

Especially if he kept proving that not all men were like Him.

But you hoped it would happen in the dead of night, when Nick was asleep.

Or in the shower, when Nick couldn’t hear you.

You hoped, you prayed, that you didn’t have nightmares. Or, if you did, they were nothing like Nick’s. You hoped your nightmares would be bone chilling, the ones that left you paralyzed.

Not waking up screaming.

Not crying out.

Not forgetting that you didn’t have to push your dresser in front of your door at night.

Forgetting that you didn’t have to shower in a bathing suit.

Forgetting that Nick was there, Nick was wrapping his arms around you. He was calling your name- you were in the bathroom. Nick was hugging you. He was kissing your face.

He was crying.

“I’m sorry,” You said.

Maybe it was reflex.

Maybe it was because He made you feel like everything was your fault.

Probably both.

“Don’t be sorry,” Nick said quickly, “None of this is your fault. I know what you’re thinking. I’ve been where you are. It’s okay to feel. To breathe and to cry. It’s okay to wake me up screaming, okay? Please tell me when you need me. Please don’t try to do this on your own any longer. Please don’t do this on your own.” You nodded, wrapping your arms around Nick’s waist, hands pressed against his strong back. You pressed your face into his shoulder.

But you didn’t cry.

You didn’t feel.

But you would. Later that night, away from work. At home. In your bed. With Nick.

And you would be okay.

You would survive.

And Nick would love you and you would love Nick.

And He would never come back.


End file.
